


Revenge is a Dish Best Served Bloodthirsty

by MintyFrosty



Category: Henry Stickmin Series (Video Games)
Genre: Angst, Felt like writing some sad boi so have this IHewbf, Grief/Mourning, Relentless Bounty Hunter, Relentless Bounty Hunter Ending, rbh
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-08
Updated: 2020-12-08
Packaged: 2021-03-10 05:01:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 892
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27948737
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MintyFrosty/pseuds/MintyFrosty
Summary: One Month.One Month since Right Hand Man was defeated by Mister Henry StickminOne Month since Reginald disappeared with that damn StickminOne Month since Right Hand Man swore revenge.
Relationships: Reginald Copperbottom & Right Hand Man, Reginald Copperbottom/Right Hand Man
Comments: 6
Kudos: 40





	Revenge is a Dish Best Served Bloodthirsty

_"Go! Go! 'll 'old 'im off!"_

Right Hand Man couldn't say he prophesied those were the last bundle of words he would shout at Reginald the final time he saw him. Of course, he knew, _he KNEW,_ that anything you say could be your last words with the job he pursued. Every day was a gamble when you were a Toppat; wishing Lady Luck will pull you with her instead of being forgotten with The Devil in a ditch who'd bend your soul into composing a deal. He knew the risks himself better than anyone, maybe even _more_ than their infamous leader. But of course, why would it be enough to prepare him for the heartbreak?

With the airships lights only at a dim to maintain the evening air, the chief of the toppats rested grimly in the pilot chair, staring at the steering wheel that he didn't dare to touch. It'd wreck the auto-pilot. Maybe he brushed over the metallic wheel with his left hand made of flesh, but no more than a touch over the material.

It wasn't just emotional damage that cursed the chief. That damn _Stickmin_ had ripped limb after limb off his torso, and now he was plagued with his legs, right arm and left side of his face encased in metallic sheets until his days were over. Although his heart longed for an act of _dear_ revenge, the chief had awoken two weeks after this tragic incident, with no one in the damn zeppelin tracing his movements. _Idiots._

Physical scars could sting, that was for damn sure. But now, it only seemed like a flicker to what discovered within the hour of waking up.

_"The chief...he...got the chief."_

It was not a pretty sight after that line.  
Well.  
Heh.

All of his brand new cybernetics went haywire, nearly overheating in the fit of his fury. The doctor there, he'd forgotten her name, had to shut him down and manually lower his stress levels, which, was probably for the best. Yet, it led to the next problem; despair. Right Hand Man had never been good at undergoing his emotional reactions to, well, anything. Grew up pretty unloved, and stayed _mostly_ unloved or feared during Chief Suave's reign of terror. Anger was his fall back, essentially. It was a way to say things his voice couldn't form. Even if he wasn't expecting it, his instinct was to scream. Scream and _demand_ to know the truth; refusing to believe that the chief had been taken.

Because he couldn't stop that damn Stickmin.  
Because he wasn't strong enough.  
Because, even with years upon _years_ , of promising to be by Reginald's side to the end, he slipped through his fingers.

And when Reginald never came?  
Crushing hopelessness.

And now, nearly a month later, the chief laid in the chair his partner once did, staring blankly at the digital map that presented itself before the navigation system. Even with himself feeling as though he wasn't worthy of the title of chief, he knew Reginald wouldn't want the Toppat Clan to crumble when he could very effectively take his place. Ironic, since once upon a time, it was Right's _dream_ to be the chief of the Toppats; to be the leader, to be loved, to be _admired._ The thought used to make him overwhelmed, a fueling motivation to be the character that deemed that role. Yet, now, when that option presented itself to him on a silver platter, he wished that dream died years ago. He wasn't fit to be a leader. A leader had to think. Scheme. Plan. That was what Reginald did best. Right Hand Man didn't fit the mould. He was a warrior; a protector, if you will. And now, being forced into the role of a leader in Reginald's absence, the weight was on his shoulders. His robotic, tired shoulders.

Yet, he knew he had to take charge.  
He _did_ take charge, and now he was the hope people looked up to. Maybe in a different life, it would be flattering, but it only made him stressed. And it was probably evident as to why. The only thing on his mind was _fucking Henry. StickminStickminStickmin. That fucking bastard-- thinking he can just tear off his limbs piece by PIECE and then take away_ **_REGINALD--_ **

A cracked chunk of metal met his ears, looking down to see the hand he had brushed against the wheel with a horrid dent to where his hand lied, causing him to sigh greatly. There went his anger again; he could already feel the fans in his cybernetics kick into high gear to try and cool down the plates of metal. Body straightening into the seat, the chief ran a hand through the bushy moustache that laid underneath his nose, growling to himself. Lost his temper again. Could he be blamed?

Reginald was his _partner._ His best friend. His husband. Was it so criminal to be heartbroken over it?

Yes.  
Undoubtedly.

But he wasn't the one to sit around and mope about it. He was _going_ to get him back. And he was _going_ to see him again. And he was _going_ to find the matching ring that paired with the one around his human fourth finger.

But most important.  
_He was going to find that Stickmin and give him the same treatment._

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading!!  
> I've haven't seen much writing of RBH so here's some smol Right angst because man sad.


End file.
